1 : The state of being well known
2 : A famous person.
Our staff have just returned from that (in)famous photographic studio on Benito Fandango Boulevard so they can present themselves in the best possible light to the millions out there who have no hair because they have torn it all out at the sheer frustration of not knowing who the hell have been behind the stratospheric success of this journal. The MazReal writers, photographers, film makers and those famous for being in the right place at the right time (One member of our circle was caught WeeGee style in a raided brothel in Shanghai with a horse nose bag full of what could have been cocaine, hanging bollock naked upside down with a toilet brush in one hand and a screeching cat in the other) have been itching to get down to that famous Mazatlán downtown photographic studio owned by the international acclaimed snapper - Count toni von Spondooli Vagondross (He insistes on the small 't'), better known as toni d' Mazatlán.
It's damn stressful having to lead a Mata Hari lifestyle, flitting from one den of iniquity door to another and not being recognised and mobbed in the streets. What is celebrity without the adulation, without the fame, without being written about, without the lawsuits, the tantrums, not getting the best tables in restaurants, never jumping the queues, not having the opportunity of putting our names to famous brands, punching paparazzi and spouting racist comments when drunk and often when not drunk?
We canna take it any more Jim......................
Now, thank Yahweh we can take off those false beards, get rid of those bananas down our pants, prosthetic noses and bald wigs and wrap around sunglasses and stroll the boulevards of this fine city in all our fabulous imperial glory.
HERE YOU ARE, THE STAFF..............................
The head honcho, el jefe, tribal chief, gaffer, chief nob, political boss and top dog money man McInley 'Muddy' Morganfield looking dapper in his expensive gerbil leather flying jacket with soft collar of New Guinea tribeman's beards. (sixty were slaughtered just to furnish that collar). Muddy just flew himself in specially on his Airbus A380 for the shoot from his 3 trillion acre game lodge on the Sirenguti Plains of South West Namaqualand South Efrica . He has already flown back after the shoot to be with his harem of 7 foot tall Batoonka tribeswomen, six Colly dogs, a Pug and best his friend - a horse named Su and his hillside of Moroccan prime marijuana and Dutch Skunk trees so we won't seeing that cheap skate bastard again.
Good riddance and don't come back you cheap low down shoyn nudnik, go
Count toni, the celebrity photographer toying with his monocle. The great man in reverie thinking what colour background and f stop to use for the shoot of these A+++listed celebs. He did the shoot on his boat cum studio called Carl, anchored in the mudflats of Stone Island. Hence the nautical attire and dictator epaulettes.
Your man on the ground and Mazatlán MAZREAL Boss Man, Claymore 'Michael Caine' Jones from that great Empire building country of Yoo Kay looking casual, relaxed and downright splendid in his three piece worsted Andes alpaca brushed bespoke suit from Braithwaite and Jeeves, Seville Row London W123, glasses from the same shop as Michael Cane Toad that great British actor, shirt by Jacques Tati and moustache by Handcok and Over. Those famous snippers from Jermyn Street London West End. Hair suavely set by Joné, that famous crimper from the hovels of Milan Indonesia.
"This season is all sophisticated, the details are subtle and less pompous." he assures us sexily.
Doesn't he look delicious enough to eat slathered with chips (french fries to our naughty cousins across the pond) and tomato ketchup coming from God's own country.
Timothy 'Tim' Burr looking so damn cool and confident set against a typical Canadian forest scene of silver birch, so typical that you would think he was actually back home in that damn fine country of woodchoppers. We have never been to Canada but were are sure we have got the styling spot on:
big axe (everyone carries them), skin tight jeans by Paul Getty of Detroit tucked into Rhino skin hide woodsman boots (great for tramping through those pristine wooded city parks), tight body huggin' Gucci red shirt and a log to rest the foot on whilst taking in the vista and breathing the champagne quality of the great wooded slopes.. We are reliably informed that the red shirt is good at scaring away those ubiquitous Canadian animals - the great Canadian smokey wooded bear yak - a highly dangerous and prized fer huntin' but never been seen wood-chip and urban garbage eating animal.
Well done Tim, you're lookin' good. Wouldn't mind giving those biceps a good squeezin'.
Our IT man Schaffer 'Schaffer' Schaffer having a rip roaring joke with Mohan Shitoot off camera. By his awkward expression you can see he is not used to a joke as he is always banged up in some dark hole somewhere doing computer stuff keeping the MazReal wheels oiled and the systems online and running smoothly. (We however joke that he spends his days heavy breathing over porn. Those jokes don't do his already fragile self esteem any good. We know that naked men and women and gerbils don't interest him nearly as much as RAM and Ghz and Gigabytes and hardware and software). He looks well primped with freshly combed hair and beard using a sheep brush but in fact it took a hired drug cartel to coax him into a shower, scrub the daylights out of him, hold him down comb his beard and clip his lower jaw and give his teeth a good going over. The dentist has to be pursued at gunpoint to get his arse down and clean those teeth whilst his family were kidnapped and tied up in a dark stinking cellar in Chihuahua or Ciudad Juarez to add incentive. Or Else.
They were let loose (well we hope they have been). Schaffer is wearing some crappy suit, tie and shirt bought from a Salvation Army shop somewhere.
You can get back to your cave now Schaffer.
What more can you say about star reporter Page Turner looking confident and serious, desperate to get back to his famous battered Olivetti to finish and file his latest front-line, under-cover, over-the-top, in-depth, top-secret, non-biased, left right-leaning story on Jacob Zuma's peace mission to try and persuade that mad tin-pot dictator Muhammed Al Capone Gaddafi to relinquish command of his North Saharan highly trained division of suicide goat herders. The goat herders' tenacity the only obstacle to peace in the whole of sub-Saharan Africa. As you can see Page has disguised himself as a college professor to gain entry to that parched landscape of desert tribal universities. Bearing an uncanny resemblance to 12 year old boy with a false beard wearing his dad's glasses he was soon tossed out of Libya by the seat of his pants and given a good spanking and finger-wagging telling off from yours truly Claymore 'TheMan' Jones. He says he's going to keep his shitty beard and serious expression so it will allow him to enter PG 13 movies at Cinemex and buy a beer at Copa de Leche and carry an AK 47 through the border to Arizona.(we know it can be done with impunity the other way round)
We never cover sport but this athletic hunk of gristle and coiffured smooth loveliness is our sports correspondent Jerry. None other than that anchor man of international infamy and infirmity Jerry 'Strawberry' Fields. Decked out in Kappa Phi Delta Epsilon Epa Psi Lamda Panda college prat tennis garb and suave turtle neck shirt from that label with crocodiles on it. Glancing cheekily out from behind his 140 cart gold glasses from Dolce and Cabanana Republic, that famous and desperately expensive shop off LA's Sinset Boulevard he maintains a pert moist-lipped coolness even under the most arduously tense and finger chomping CCA (Canadian Curling Association) competition.
His intensely annoying and even slappable expression we are sure would instantly melt the frozen hearts of any stunningly beautiful Inuit supermodel.
(We wouldn't mind seeing this twat get caught in the ring between 6 wrestlers from Lucha Libre Ultraviolento - Ed)
This is Curtis James "Boo Boo" Jackson III, our diamond toothed music correspondent at this moment deeply embedded in the tour bus of that well known rap quintet Blackalicious The Gift of Gab. Those guys are so friggin' hard-core that Boo Boo has to go armed with a submachine gun and bazooka stuffed down his ample trousers. 'The Gift' think he is a member of their own notorious band where they are on the road doing a city to city tour of Chechyna and the Caucasus states finishing their sell-out performances in the war torn city of Groznyy from a stage barricaded with razor wire, sand bags and half the Russian army who will no doubt be tapping their jackbooted feet to the beat.
We're not sure when he will return if he ever will but we hear rumours that he may stay and fight for the Chechen Separatist Movement against those imperialist Russkies.
Good on yer Boo Boo. Don't forget to Twitter us soon with an update.
Last but by no means least is our super-hunk of burnin' leather and cigar smelling llurve machine Clint 'Hot Rod' Dickens. Hot Rod generally hangs around the office doing fuck all and acts as a procurement guy and minder and dog's body. But what a body!! The gals and guys take one look into those hazel and blue eyes and thick luscious bearded face and chest like a gorilla with a sawn-off draped across his shoulders and they plain melt into his cigar and horse sweat smelling arms. Christ we have to keep a ice-cold fire bucket of water handy to throw on him when he gets all heated up. Dunno what he keeps under that hat man but he never takes it off even when he goes into the sea. (Some wag tried to flip it off but all he got for his pains was two barrels of buck shot right in the face) Hot Rod gets his yak piss smellin' clothes from the Canadian Outdoorsman Huntin', Shootin' and Trappin' Varmints Catalogue from that famous town of Bateman Saskatchewan.
Woof woof what a guy.
This dweeby looking short-arse with bow tie, crap hair cut, toothy grin and retro cool glasses, not to mention his ridiculous kiddy suit, one hand suavely in his pocket and other hand clutching the furniture like it's his tojo: is our gopher and tea boy. This poor kid is so ridiculous looking that we keep him hidden in the mop cupboard till he gets sent out to hitch-hike to downtown Culiacan when we need some tortillas from that fine blood-soaked city . We may send him to work for the El Guicho for a couple of years to toughen him up. We haven't a clue what his name is but think it is Yoo Boy Come Here as that's what everyone shouts at him.
The rest of the lads having a joke and swopping drugs in the company car park. Left to right: Skip Church, Bruce LaBruce (fashion) and of course Mohan Shitoot. Just a note to say that Bruce LaBruce was dragged away by the cops just after the shoot for getting drunk in a restaurant and mouthing off about how he had 'sympathy' for Newt Gingrich and joking he himself was a right wing bigot. Famous Hollywood actress Kirsten Dunce said afterwards
" he just likes to provoke". Anyway he is now persona non gratis at that famous restaurant of the stars just out of town called El Habaneros. (no more machaca and tortillas for you Bruce)
The boys are all dressed in the latest cardigans and slacks from New York's famous old man's salon Ermenengilda Zagnut of Broadway and Main NYC.
We just got news and this picture sent from one of Mongolia's trouble spots is actually our famous man-on-the-spot Nasty McFilthy in disguise. He has spent years perfecting his camouflage to loose himself amongst the Mongolian Yak herdsmen who are being systematically starved by those naughty Chinese who want them to leave their ancient homeland and become slave wage workers on the Nike footware assembly line in Ulan Bator. We haven't the heart to tell Nasty the the disguise he has adopted is in fact that of a typical Welsh hill farmer from the town of Llanfairpwllgwyngyll on the borders with that great empire building nation Yoo Kay.
The act of using his lips to carry his tin plate is a joy to behold. We hope you are not rumbled by those canny Yaksmen that roam the plains but we know they will welcome him with open arms as a fellow herding sheep farmingWelshman.
We want to avoid these uncouth shenanigans on the dusty streets of Mazatlán. So please when approaching your heroes don't do a Justin Bieber Screaming Fan Type Thing and refrain from tearing our expensive shirts from our backs.
Just sidle up with dignity and graciously ask for our autographs.
Footnote: As you can see we have no women employees. We have interviewed all over the globe but for some reason they have never remained for longer than half an hour. We think it has something to do our procurement man 'Hot Rod' who does the interviewing. We did have one who managed three days after when 'Hot Rod' was heard to scream and run out the toilet where she was having a pee standing up. She turned out to be a man in drag who had a taken a certain likeness to Hot Rod.